The Pleasure Chest Box Set(25)

On the fifth day of my moping, Joey intervenes. “Text him.”

“What?” I ask, startled as I’m rearranging some lingerie.

“Don’t be coy. Text him.”

I sigh. “He said he’d be coming into the store in a couple of days.”

Joey gives me a look. “And how many days ago was that?”

He has a point. But… “I don’t know. I don’t want to be that girl, you know?”

“It’s been a week. I think you’re safe to text the man.” He makes sure that I see when he rolls his eyes.

“Fine.” I pull out my phone and open our text stream—a gesture I’ve done all too often lately—and freeze. “What do I say?”

Joey laughs. “I have no idea. I’m not the one who had sex with him—and please,” he says, reacting to my horrified face that anyone realized that I slept with Jet on the first date, “you were over the moon the next day. I saw the man. I would have fucked him too.”

He walks away, leaving me staring, with still no idea what to say.

I start to type:



Hey Jet

Hi there

Hi Jet,

I know it’s been a while, but I wanted to let you know

tell you again that I had an amazing time at dinner.

I’d love to do it again sometime, or talk when

you come into the store.



Hope to see you soon.



I press send before I can second guess myself too much. A spike of anxiety lodges in my stomach, but it’s too late now. Nothing I can do about it. All I can hope for is that he doesn’t find my text a turn off and never show his face again. All I know is that instead of looking at the door every five minutes, now I’ll be checking my phone.



Nothing. It’s been three days and no response to my text message. I swear I’m starting to wear down the buttons on my phone clicking the home screen to see if I missed something. But no. It’s never there. I flop down on my couch with a glass of cheap wine, determined to find something mindless and numbing to watch on TV. I’m just starting to get engrossed in one of those terrible and way-too-specific home makeover shows when I hear a buzzing. I mute the TV. No, not imagining it. I put down my wine and run over to check my phone on the counter, but it’s silent. I can still hear the buzzing.

I follow the sound through my apartment, and into my bedroom. To my dresser. And the drawer where I keep all my toys—all being the ones that Jet gave me and the pathetic vibrator that I had before that. I open the drawer, and find the purple toy from our date—the We Vibe—buzzing heartily. It’s then that I remember that his phone is synced with the toy, so that wherever he is, he can control it.

So wherever he is right now, despite not responding to my text, he’s manipulating the toy, hoping that I’ll put it on. Is he serious? I’m half appalled, half angry that he’s doing this when we haven’t even communicated. But then again, is this his way of telling me he’s still interested despite the lack of contact? I go back and forth about whether I should give in and put the toy on, when it goes quiet.

Oh. Well. I guess that’s that then. Maybe the app got opened on his phone by mistake. Or maybe…maybe he’s doing what he did at dinner. It will be unexpected, a surprise. I keep telling myself that this is a stupid idea, that if he hasn’t shown up at the store or texted me after ten days that I should leave it alone, but I slip the toy on anyway. I go back to my home makeover show, but now I can’t focus. I’m hyper-aware of the toy between my legs, half hoping it will turn on, half believing it won’t. I have the day off tomorrow, so I drink more wine, I watch more episodes of the show, and eventually, I fall asleep on the couch.

I dream that Jet is here, in my apartment. He comes in the door as if he’s been here a hundred times before, coming into the living room and kissing me before he does anything else. And then he’s doing everything else. His shirt is off and I’m feeling the amazing muscles in his chest, my hand straying lower to find his cock hard as a rock beneath his jeans. His hand slips into my pants, fingers teasing as he continues to kiss me. He pushes them deeper, stroking over my G-spot. Every move he makes there feels delicious, almost like his hand is vibrating deep inside me.

I wake up with a gasp, the toy’s two vibrators pulsing in an echoing rhythm. It’s three a.m. according to the display on my TV. Man, he waited a long time to get started. Oh. The vibration changes up so that the one on my clit is pulsing and the one inside is low and steady. My moan is loud in the darkness of my apartment, and I’m glad no one is here to hear me. I reach down into my pants, using my hand to thrust the toy harder into me, imagining that Jet is once again inside me.

The toy’s vibrations change once again, and I know that this is it. The vibrations rise and fall together in cresting waves, and with each peak I feel myself get a little closer. I hold myself still, letting the toy do its work, trying to imagine what Jet is thinking as he instructs it what to do. Is he remembering what happened on the roof? Is he thinking about me coming and touching himself? I think about him being in this room, sitting across from me, stroking himself as he watches me come undone from the toy he put inside me. I think about what it would be like to watch him come as he watches me, and my arousal spikes. The vibration crests, and I’m almost there. I close my eyes, hovering in the wave of pleasure right before the storm.

Then the next wave hits, and I go over. My back arches off the couch as the pleasure races through me, swift as lightning. My muscles shake from the pressure of the release, and I reach down to turn the toy off manually. As the glow of the orgasm fades, a delightful relaxation spreads through my body, and I feel more relaxed than I have in days. I barely make it to my bed before I’m falling asleep again.





9





Another week passes, and even though I sent him a cute text thanking him for the amazing orgasm with the vibrator, I’ve still heard nothing from him. Joey and Ella are both pissed on my behalf. But I’m not mad, I just feel…sad and disappointed. Maybe I was too eager? Maybe I was taken advantage of by someone who just wanted to have sex. Maybe the sex on the roof wasn’t as good for him as it was for me. There are lots of things that could have gone wrong, and frankly, none of them are worth worrying about at this point. He’s gone. I need to file away that date as an amazing memory, and move on. It doesn’t matter that my texts—and eventually calls—have gone unanswered. It’s over. I told him that in the last text message I sent him—that if this is the way he’s going to be I didn’t want to hear from him again.

But thinking I need to move on is never as simple as actually moving on. I still catch myself thinking about his hands, his eyes, his mouth, checking my phone to see if he decided to text me today. Part of me thinks it’s pretty sad that my mind still hopes it will be him that walks through the door—after all, we didn’t know each other that long. But another, greater part of me thinks that it could have been something special, and the fact that it’s gone makes me immeasurably sad.

It doesn’t matter though. I was fine before him, and I’ll be fine after him. I still enjoy my job, and I’ve taken up new research project—how to make a Victorian ball gown accurately. After all, Halloween is only three months away. If I start now I’ll have an amazing costume, if I ever get that far. There are so many facets of Victorian dress, I may never settle on a design. But that’s okay. The research is the part I really love. Plus, all the details keep me from digging through the internet for any sign of Jet—or Jethro—Kincaid. There isn’t any social media, and the listings that are there simply list him as ‘CEO,’ without any company name attached. It’s a mystery that has the potential to drive me crazy, which is why I’m busy examining the potential meanings of Victorian wrist buttons.

Time passes, and I convince myself that I’ve forgotten all about him. Even when I use the toys that he gave me—the Womanizer is still amazing—I manage not to think about our night together. Joey jokes about setting me up on a date who will show up for a second one, and then Ella jumps on board. At first, I don’t want to. It feels too fast, like I’m not ready. But I knew Jet for less than a week, and if I protest too much my friends are going to think I’m crazy. Besides, maybe the guy they set me up with will be great. Maybe he’ll finally get my mind off of Jet and on to more important things. But I’m not going on a totally blind date, that’s where I draw the line. So, Ella agrees to have him come into the store to meet me first. If I approve, then she’ll set us up.

“Are you nervous?” Ella asks on the day the guy is supposed to come in.

“Not really,” I lie.

I am nervous. I spent way more time than I usually do on my make-up this morning. I want this to be good. I want it to work out. I want to be blown away, and be happy.

Ella gives me a look. “That was really convincing.”

“Okay, fine. I’m nervous. But I don’t see how it matters. I’m meeting him either way.”

“Darren is so sweet,” she says. “I know you’ll like him.”

I muster up the best smile I can. “I’m sure I will.”